


Any Moment

by Riona



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gaslighting, Gen, Psychological Torture, Sexual Threat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 04:59:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14513079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riona/pseuds/Riona
Summary: Prompto is imprisoned and terrified of what might befall him. For Ardyn, the fear is enough.





	Any Moment

**Author's Note:**

> My Prompto-centric fics can be divided into two categories: 'Prompto suffers in a fun way' and 'Prompto suffers in a not-fun way'. This is not fun suffering. Sorry, Prompto.

“You won’t need any of this, of course,” a voice is saying as the shadows begin to clear from Prompto’s head.

Prompto’s breathing picks up, his body realising he’s in danger before his mind does. It’s a moment later when he places the voice, a moment after that when he remembers what happened.

He doesn’t want to open his eyes.

He opens his eyes.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Ardyn says. “Good. I want you to appreciate what I’m doing for you.”

Prompto’s hands feel... off, not just because they’ve been pulled back above his head, and it’s a moment before he places it. He’s only wearing one glove. When did he lose the other one?

And then he feels Ardyn’s fingers against his wrist, tugging off the remaining glove, and he tenses up in surprise and confusion.

“Your attire was suited for the snow,” Ardyn says, moving to undo the buttons of Prompto’s fleece-lined jacket. “I, however, am a considerate host, and I do like to make sure my workspace is a welcoming temperature. I thought I’d help you change. You’ll be far too warm otherwise.”

Prompto manages to find his voice. “You... what?”

He’s lying on a narrow bunk, staring up at the bottom of the bed above him. The mattress is hard. That’s nowhere near his biggest concern right now, but it crosses his mind.

He’s... he’s bound to the bedframe, wrists and ankles.

He’s cuffed to a bed, and Ardyn is taking off his clothes.

Prompto tries to sit up sharply, without thinking, and inhales in pain as the cuffs slam into his wrists. He falls back against the sheets.

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself,” Ardyn says. “I’m more than happy to perform this little task.”

Prompto has to swallow a few times before he can speak, terrified of the question he has to ask. “What, uh, what are you doing?”

“I know you’re not the sharpest of His Highness’s pets,” Ardyn says, “but I hope I can credit you with a _little_ perception. What does it seem like I’m doing?”

He slips his hand inside the open jacket; it feels like it’s burning Prompto’s skin even through the layers he’s wearing underneath. Tries to ease the jacket off, to push it over Prompto’s shoulders. Prompto presses himself down into the mattress as hard as he can, to make it more difficult. His heart’s beating so high in his throat he can almost taste it in his mouth.

Ardyn pauses. “You’ll enjoy this more if you’re compliant, Prompto.”

Every part of Prompto’s mind is screaming.

Ardyn sighs, and then – there’s a dagger in his hand, where did it _come_ from, that’s definitely a dagger and Prompto’s about to die—

Ardyn cuts the jacket off him, calmly and methodically, and Prompto’s increasingly convinced that he’s going to throw up with terror.

“Now,” Ardyn says, dangling the remains of a sleeve in front of him, “are you going to make this simple for me, or am I going to have to ruin more perfectly good clothing?”

Prompto can’t stop thinking about the day Noct dragged them all to the Vesperpool and fished for eight straight hours, until Prompto was begging him to stop. He’d never been so bored. He’d give anything to be back there.

“Prompto.” Ardyn slips the dagger under Prompto’s belt, and Prompto inhales sharply, the flat of it bright and cold against his hip. “An answer, please. We don’t... well, we _do_ have all day, as it happens, but to be honest I was rather hoping to get other things done.”

Prompto doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to, but it’ll take longer if Ardyn cuts all his clothes off, and the anticipation is worse. He thinks the anticipation might be worse, at least. He hopes the anticipation is worse.

He nods. He’s feeling dizzy, even lying down. Maybe he’ll pass out. That’d be nice.

“Good boy.”

Ardyn takes off Prompto’s sweater, his outer pair of trousers, gripping Prompto’s wrist or ankle firmly whenever he needs to undo a cuff, while Prompto squeezes his eyes shut and tries to put himself back in that day at the Vesperpool. Playing cards with Ignis and Gladio by the water’s edge, complaining as loudly as possible to be sure Noct could hear him.

“There,” Ardyn says. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Prompto’s heart trips over itself, drops a couple of beats. He opens his eyes.

He’s still wearing his Crownsguard uniform; he had it on under his heavy clothes for extra warmth, and because he didn’t want to risk losing it. Maybe Ardyn wants to be more... involved in taking that off. His lips on Prompto’s mouth or his neck, hands pushing up under his top—

Prompto’s drowning in sweat, it’s cold on his bare arms, but he’s way too hot everywhere else.

Ardyn’s just... watching him. Not doing anything. Yet.

“That should do,” Ardyn says at last. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve preparations to make for a certain someone’s arrival. I’d recommend sleeping, while you happen to be lying down.”

What?

“That’s it?” Prompto blurts out.

“Oh? What more did you expect?”

“I...” He shouldn’t say anything, he shouldn’t give him ideas, he...

“Actually,” Ardyn says, a smile crossing his face, “there _is_ something I forgot.”

He reaches inside his coat and pulls out a pot of... something, _shit_ , what is it, it can’t be...

It’s...

It’s hair gel.

Ardyn rubs it between his hands. Stoops down to run his fingers through Prompto’s hair. “We want you looking your best, don’t we?”

-

Prompto doesn’t sleep. No surprises there.

Ardyn comes back a few hours later. Leans over him, and Prompto’s vision swims, and this is going to be the moment it happens.

But Ardyn just unclips the cuffs and pulls Prompto to his feet. Drags him along grey corridors. Straps him into some kind of... some kind of upright metal frame, arms outstretched, helpless.

Prompto can’t properly turn his head to look, but he can feel Ardyn learning in, close, too close, closer—

“We’re going to be very quiet, aren’t we?” Ardyn murmurs. Prompto feels it more than he hears it, a warm breath in his ear. Every muscle in his body is tense. “Sounds do echo _most_ unpleasantly in here.”

And it’s going to happen, it’s going to happen, it’s already happening in Prompto’s head. He’s braced for it; he can’t brace any harder.

Ardyn pats him on the shoulder and leaves.

-

“Do finish your food, boy,” Ardyn says. “I’m not going to put in the effort of feeding you if you intend to waste it.”

It’s hard to swallow, his throat tight with fear, but he’s still so hungry and he can’t give Ardyn an excuse not to feed him at all. He eats the remains of the bread roll Ardyn’s holding out to him, trying to avoid Ardyn’s fingers, shivering when he fails and feels their light touch against his mouth.

(In his head Ardyn seizes his hair, pushes his fingers into Prompto’s mouth, laughs at him as he chokes—)

“An improvement,” Ardyn says, “but I do expect you to finish _all_ your food.”

Prompto raises his head to say that he has.

Ardyn is holding his hand out, a little cluster of breadcrumbs cupped in his palm.

Is he expected to lick them up? He could try to pick them out individually with his lips. But then it’d just be like he’s... kissing Ardyn’s palm, over and over again.

He feels sick.

“Couldn’t you just tip them into my mouth?” he asks, not very hopefully.

“A little undignified, wouldn’t you say?” Ardyn asks. “I’m allowing you to eat under your own power. It’s a courtesy.”

Prompto stares a moment longer, then ducks his head and licks Ardyn’s palm, before he can think for too long about what he’s doing. The salt of sweat and something metallic, and all he can think is that this is what Ardyn tastes like, he _knows_ that now, and it’s like every image of what Ardyn might do to him is suddenly in heightened colour in his head.

He has to fight to keep down the food. He doesn’t want to find out how far this _no waste_ thing goes.

-

He holds it as long as he can, but eventually he has to ask Ardyn if he can pee. Ardyn, grumbling about being degraded, goes and gets a bucket.

Ardyn kneels in front of him and undoes his fly, pulls everything down, and there’s a moment when Prompto is just trying to keep breathing, humiliated and shivering and knowing that this has to be it.

Ardyn doesn’t lean forward and take him in his mouth, doesn’t even take him in his hand. He releases one of Prompto’s hands so Prompto can aim. Straps his arm back in and zips him back up afterwards.

Prompto feels like he’s losing his mind. The waiting is too much; it’s unbearable. He’s going to say it. He can’t say it. But he has to.

“If you’re going to... t-touch me, just get it over with, just...”

“Touch you?” Ardyn asks, standing up. “Touch you how?”

All the possible answers slam into Prompto, intense and horrible and overwhelming. There’s no way, there’s no _way_ he doesn’t know.

“Touch you _inappropriately?_ ” Ardyn asks.

Prompto stares past him, at the bars of the cell; he can’t look at his face. He feels like something is tearing him up from inside.

“Do you honestly think I would do such a thing?” Ardyn asks, splaying his fingers in mock-astonishment against his collarbone (his own collarbone, not Prompto’s, not Prompto’s, not Prompto’s). “I’m offended, frankly. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Prompto’s breathing is so fast it’s hard to get the words out. He shouldn’t be saying anything, he shouldn’t be provoking him, but... “You’re lying.”

“Now, why would you say that? Do you want me to be lying?”

“N- _no_ , why would I—”

“It would explain why the thought crossed your mind in the first place,” Ardyn says, “when I never gave you cause to expect anything of the kind.”

He stoops a little, to look Prompto in the eye. Like he’s about to kiss him. Prompto’s heart speeds up.

Ardyn smiles, slow as a cat stretching. “This isn’t a fear. It’s a fantasy.”

-

He still can’t stop picturing it. Even when Ardyn’s been saying he won’t, even when he _keeps_ saying he won’t. He can’t get it out of his head. He can’t get it out of his dreams.

When the others find him, his heart leaps, his entire body wakes up. But there’s something beneath the relief, a small voice whispering _not yet_.

He’s been hoping Ardyn will do something to him. So he knows he hasn’t been imagining things. So he knows it’s not just a fantasy, so he knows it’s not just that he’s screwed up enough to _want_ it.

He’s been _hoping_ Ardyn will do something to him, and he’s disgusted with himself.

-

“Prompto,” Ignis says. “May I speak with you privately?”

Prompto glances over at Noct and Gladio, asleep on their bunks. He doesn’t really want to be alone with anyone right now. “We can talk here, right? The others are sleeping.”

“I understand,” Ignis says, after a moment. He feels out one of the uncomfortable little chairs in the room, sits down.

Prompto sits on one of the lower bunks, opposite him. They needed somewhere to sleep, he knows that, but every moment he’s in here he’s thinking about Ardyn slowly cutting off his clothes, down to the skin, down to the bone.

“What did you want to talk about?” Prompto asks, a little nervously, when the silence gets too much.

“What exactly did the chancellor do to you?” Ignis asks.

It brings all the mental images rushing back in, everything he pictured, everything that didn’t happen. Prompto opens his mouth. He can’t speak.

Ignis can’t see his expression, at least (and feeling relieved about that probably makes Prompto a horrible person), but he obviously picks up on the silence. “I apologise. Perhaps that was too direct. If it’s difficult to speak about...”

“He didn’t do anything,” Prompto blurts out. He’s been trying to hold it together, he’s been trying to seem normal, but apparently he’s as bad at that as he is at everything else. “I know I don’t – I don’t have any excuse for being like this.”

Ignis is silent for a moment. “I wouldn’t call abducting you ‘not doing anything’.”

“He fed me. I had water. Most of these bruises are just from trying to get out of that – that thing.” Crap, he shouldn’t have mentioned the bruises. Ignis can’t see them; maybe he didn’t know about them. “I don’t – I don’t know why I’m such a mess, I keep thinking about stuff he didn’t even _do_ —”

“Prompto,” Ignis says, gently, “I’m not trying to establish whether you have the right to be traumatised. There’s no doubt you’ve been through a traumatic event.”

“It feels like I’m still there,” Prompto says. “Like I’m just dreaming I got rescued, and any moment I’m gonna wake up and he’ll be...”

He chokes on the words. He needs to talk about it so it won’t just be pinned inside him, the constant image of Ardyn stripping him down and doing whatever he wants. But it evidently wasn’t what Ardyn wanted, so maybe it really is what Prompto wants, maybe that’s why he can’t get it out of his head even now.

What’s wrong with him? This guy fucked up all their lives, and here Prompto is, _daydreaming_ about being violated by him?

“Prompto.” Ignis starts out of his seat, holding out a hand towards him, and Prompto hesitates. Takes the hand.

It feels real. More real than the hands under his clothes, the taste of Ardyn in his mouth.

“Sorry,” Prompto says, quietly.

“I don’t know what you’re apologising for.” Ignis’s hand tightens on his. “I’m just grateful you’re safe.”

Prompto lets go, a little reluctantly. He doesn’t want to seem weird. Maybe it’s too late for that.

“You’re sure nothing happened back there that you might need to talk about?” Ignis asks. “I assure you, no matter what he might have made you do, we would think no less of you.”

Is he talking about... is he thinking...?

Maybe Prompto’s just full of himself. He was wrong about Ardyn, and now he’s assuming even other people would think Ardyn might want that from him.

“Can you... be more specific?” he asks.

Ignis pauses. “I fear that speaking too bluntly may bring... difficult things to mind.”

“Honestly,” Prompto says, “my mind’s a pretty difficult place right now no matter what you say.”

“Very well,” Ignis says. “I was concerned that he may have been violent with you, or coercive. Perhaps, ah, sexually.”

Prompto draws in a long, deep breath, lets it out, trembling a little. It feels like the first time he’s breathed properly in weeks.

“So it wasn’t just me,” he says. “You thought it too.”

“Was he?” Ignis asks, sharply.

Prompto shakes his head, which, come to think of it, isn’t much use. “He said he’d never do that. I don’t...” Is he going to say this? It’ll burn a hole in him if he keeps it inside. “I don’t understand why I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“What do you mean?” Ignis asks.

Maybe Ignis will be disgusted. But he seemed okay with Prompto’s past, at least.

“I kept picturing it,” Prompto says. “Like... all the time. Even now—” He can’t finish that sentence. “He said it was a fantasy. He said I wanted him to... to...”

He tails off and waits, heart hammering.

There’s anger in Ignis’s voice when he speaks, quiet but unmistakable. “Did you believe him?”

Prompto cringes. He’s screwed this up so badly. “I, uh – uh – I—”

“I’m not angry with you, Prompto,” Ignis says, more composed now. “I apologise for making you think I was. But I am angry.”

“I... I guess maybe I thought...”

Ignis waits for a moment.

“Regardless of your answer,” he says at last, “if you need this much time to decide whether you believed him, we need to discuss this.”

“Are you sure?” Prompto asks, desperately. “It’s pretty late, maybe it’d be best if we just—”

“Prompto.”

Prompto resigns himself. “Okay.”

“I had misgivings about the chancellor’s conduct even before we realised how truly opposed he was to our interests,” Ignis says. “Do you recall when we shared a caravan with him?”

He remembers. It’s been on his mind a lot lately. They were sleeping in the same room; Ardyn could have done _anything_ to him. “Yeah.”

“He touched your face,” Ignis says.

“He was... he said he was getting an eyelash.”

“You leant away,” Ignis says. “It was clear enough that you were uncomfortable. A man of integrity would have withdrawn. He touched you regardless. It struck me as a threat.”

Prompto swallows painfully. He has to look at the floor before he can speak. “He said I was just seeing threats when nothing was there. Because I... you know, because I... because I wanted to.”

“Enough was there for us to pick up on it,” Ignis says. He pauses for a moment. “You may not have realised this, but Noct, Gladio and I slept in shifts that night.”

Prompto looks up at him. “What?”

“When Ardyn shared our caravan,” Ignis says. “We thought it best to keep an eye on you. It seemed to us that he might do you some harm.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I apologise. I was hoping not to worry you.”

All the possibilities from that night running through Prompto’s head, all the what-ifs, they suddenly lose their power. Ardyn couldn’t have done anything to him. The others were watching over him, keeping him safe.

“I am telling you this now,” Ignis says, “so you understand that these fears didn’t come from nowhere, no matter what the chancellor may have told you. He was certainly threatening you that evening. I’ve no doubt he was threatening you when he had you in his care. The act of abducting you is a threat in itself; that alone would be enough for it to be understandable that these thoughts might cross your mind.”

“You don’t...” It’s strangely difficult to breathe. “You don’t think it means I wanted him to...?”

“I think it means,” Ignis says, grimly, “that the chancellor has been torturing someone important to me, and I owe him a great deal of pain.”

-

That night, when Ardyn slips his fingers under Prompto’s belt in his dreams, Ignis appears and strikes him down with his daggers. 


End file.
